Roads Are For Journeys, Not Destinations
by Inquisitive dreamer
Summary: OutlawQueen AU: "How can we really know for sure though, that our modern interpretation of that particular story is accurate, it makes no logical sense for a Queen to be as jealous as the Evil Queen is portrayed. Why would a person's beauty propel such blood lust?" I bit my lip; I hadn't meant to voice my inner thoughts, but I had always felt the Queen had been misunderstood.
1. The Soul Mate Theory

**A/N: Hi, this is the first multi-chapter fic I have written in many years, I owe a great deal of gratitude to the wonderful** _RuffledParasol. _**She has been nothing short of amazing. This is an AU fic I first began to write in a hospital waiting room, it has grown exponentially since then. This is part one, I have another few parts already written; I would be eternally grateful if you took the time to review, love it or hate it please tell me. Enjoy ~ ID**

* * *

><p><strong>Soul mate theory<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Don't find love, let love find you. That's why they call it falling in love. You don't force yourself to fall, you just fall...<em>

**0o0**

I have spent my entire life searching for the unattainable, that one thing that unites the human race, that solidifies us together as a species; we all need to feel _loved_ and to _love_. I am not talking about the kind of love you give and receive from your child, that love is uniquely different, unconditional and powerful. I'm not talking about the love for family and friends, as you have no doubt guessed, I am talking about the deeply passionate love you only find with your true soul mate. That one person that will fill the tiny hole you have in your heart, that person who will catch you when you fall, dry your tears, make you laugh and hold your hand, through the good times and bad.

I thought I had come close to finding it once, oh so long ago back in college, when I was young and naive. It was because of that experience, with Daniel that I am able to distinguish between love and infatuation/lust, the latter of which I experienced more of in recent times, with Graham, being prime example.

I do know that I crave that special love, but doesn't everyone? I want someone to know me better than I know myself, to love me, mind, body and soul, the bad and the good. This magical mythical man also must love my Son, the most important person in my life. That is my secret, the secret that I will never tell anyone, my secret dreams and hopes. I want to trust someone completely, to fall madly, deeply and eternally in love. I cannot voice them, at the end of a long stressful day at work, I come home; kiss my Son, snuggle up in my bed and imagine the kind of man who is going to walk into my life and lift my spirits', to make me whole. (Not logical I know but, emotional).

I awake, far earlier than I needed to; turning to look at my alarm clock. I see I have an hour left before the shrill of the bell punctuates the silence of my bedroom. I decide to put off the inevitable, throwing the covers off of me I slip my feet into my warm fluffy slippers. Opening the curtains I pause, as the view makes my breath catch in my throat, rolling green hills, a fast flowing river and crystal-clear blue sky. The bright vivid colours have been strangers to my eyes these past few months, I love these first days, when winter's drawing to a close; you look out of your window in the morning and see the sun peeking out from the horizon; where the previous day, dark and dreary clouds loomed. The sky is so blue and clear, on a morning like this the realisation hits you like an epiphany; 'you had forgotten how refreshing and beautiful spring was'.

Today, I quickly reach the conclusion that I am in a pensive mood, I sit at my chunky kitchen table with a coffee clasped tightly in my hand. Flicking through the newspaper, nothing is catching my eye; I give up and turn the television on to BBC World News. Sometimes when you turn the television on in an empty house it can make you feel less alone – at this time of the morning the house does feel empty. It isn't it is bursting with life. I hear the clock in the hallway begin to chime, its 7am. Retrieving another mug I place it on the table and wait. Sure enough five minutes later I hear the banging on the floor above, then the tell-tale thumping on the stairs. My Son bursts through the kitchen door, dressing gown flying wildly behind him. My son, the whirlwind.

"Good morning Mom, have you been up long?" he beams.

"No, I woke up an hour ago, I couldn't get back to sleep, why so bright and breezy darling?" I watch him pour coffee into his mug; I bite my tongue as I see him adding three sugars, I know exactly whom he was emulating with his sudden love for coffee, I make a mental note to speak to the man in question as I watch Henry pulling a banana from the fruit bowl. He seems to consider my question thoughtfully as he peels his banana slowly.

"No reason really, I just slept really well." he lies. I have known for a while he's hiding something – he's almost a teenager so that's hardly surprising. _I'm not worried. (I tell myself.) _

"Hmmm okay, well I have a few meeting's today, so I had better get dressed for work. Do you have plans?" I ask standing.

"Yeah, I do if that's okay with you? I know you like me to come into work with you when I'm off school, but Grace has got an advanced copy of a few movies. We're going to have a movie day if that's okay?" he looks down, staring into his mug.

"That sounds lovely Henry, are you planning on staying here?" he nods and skips off back to his room.

Sometimes it feels like I blinked and the last twelve years have flown by. Slipping my phone out of my pocket I type a quick text to Isabel – _'At work today, Henry staying at home could you keep an eye on him? Thanks R x'_ my neighbour was a diamond, she loved my little boy and he loved her. – Henry however likes to pretend that he's old enough to be left unsupervised. I disagree, perhaps I'm overprotective.

I should have known that waking up before my alarm this morning wasn't a good omen for the day. When I reversed my car out of the garage, the brakes had felt heavy, I thought I was imagining it, until I got out to close the garage door; I noticed a trail of fluid eminating from a puddle on the floor, I followed it and sure enough it stopped under my car. I called my mechanic and then a taxi.

**0o0**

I have been in work since 9am, a late start thanks to my car, already I have had a bumbling group of medical students ask the most ridiculous questions I have ever heard. As each new generation comes into my field of view, the niggling feeling of dread becomes more and more prominent. Common-sense seems to be less inherited these days; it is becoming more and more apparent, much to my dismay. It worries me; natural selection is a fine thing indeed.

"Regina, there's someone here to see you." I glance harshly at my assistant; she is one of a rare breed of people who do not believe in calling people by their titles. I have tried more times that I care to remember to get her to call me "Miss Mills" or "Doctor" – she has thus far refused. It amuses me a little and she's is by far the best out there, so I let it slide.

"Who is it Mary-Margaret?" I ask while I replace patient files into the out tray, ready for filing. "I've had the day from hell I really cannot be bothered with banalities."

"This particular _'banality'_, as you put, it just might sort out the horrific mood you're in. Gosh woman, you have everyone from the Dean of the University to the interns and medical students avoiding coming into contact with you today. Is it your life's mission to scare the shit out of everyone?" she comments.

"Doesn't seem to be affecting you though does it? What makes you so different?" I smile, amused in her direction.

"I know you're really just a big softie under your hard exterior. It's a front and I can see the real you." She quips.

I get up from my desk and walk towards her; "You're a good friend Mary-Margaret." I say as I pat her affectionately on the shoulder and slip on my jacket. "Could you call George and find out if he's figured out the problem with my car, I could really use it this afternoon." I say, she nods, yes.

"Are you going to tell me who is outside?" I prod.

"Nope, but I guarantee it'll turn your frown upside down." She chirps from beside me, she expertly dodges my hand.

Exiting my office I walk through Mary-Margaret's work space, noticing the various files that lay in dissaray, I shake my head, _annoyed_ and turned towards my waiting room. The corridors were silent; the linoleum echoed my footfalls loudly. I notice a nurse out of the corner of my eye briefly, before she vanishes leaving me questioning if I had even seen her at all.

To say I was shocked to see this particular man sitting in _this_ waiting room, after all these years is a gross understatement. My breath catches in my throat and my heart rate accelerates dramatically, as I take in his appearence, his sandy hair is peppered with flecks of grey, his body still lean and fit, his smile still bright and mesmerising. Closing my eyes and inhaling deeply I say, "Come with me," I start walking back towards my office, my mind uncertain if he'd follow, but my heart knowing he would, he always did, from the first time we met in college a lifetime ago. I close the door softly behind him and stand with my back leaning against it, watching him. 

**0o0**

My human anatomy class had run over, apparently when one was dissecting kidneys, time vanished. I pulled at the bottom of my scrubs self-consciously; I hadn't had time to change before my next class. I hated walking around campus in scrubs; it attracted all of the _wrong kinds_ of attention. Today was my first day attending the Psychology elective my advisor had insisted I study. Psychology really wasn't my thing, but I decided the extra credit would look good on my resume.

Pulling my time-table out of the front pocket of my rucksack I headed down the grand marble staircase, my hands skimming the intricately carved banister. The lecture was being given in one of the bigger lecture theatres, one I had never been in before. When I was in my second year at university, the dean decided to run a competition, those who wished to participate would, if selected be given the honour of naming the various lecture halls around campus, it was a stunt to modernise an old institution, and for the most part it succeeded.

I walked along a dark hall-way, picture frames adorned each side of the wall, past graduates, over the last hundred or so years looked down from their portraits, I could feel their eyes watching me as I came to a stop.

_The Tavern._

_Of course_, I had heard rumours of this being one of the names chosen, but I didn't give it much stock. Yet here I was standing in front of two dark oak doors, intricate gold carvings weaved around the wood. I pulled down the handle and pushed on the door.

It squeaked, _loudly_. Just my luck, all eyes turned towards me as I stood in the middle of the asile, the door banging shut behind me. The professor stood on the stage around 10 feet from me, I recognised him, his tweed jacket, glasses perched impossibly low on his nose; how they didn't slide off I don't know. His eyes locked onto mine and he shook his head.

"I do not tolerate lateness, find a seat" he chirped. _Jiminy Cricket_ I smirked as I began surveying the room.

"A theory on the meaning of soul mates is a philosophical text by the Greek Philosopher Plato, dated circa.385-380 BC. This theory, examines love in a series of speeches by comic playwright Aristophanes. These speeches are made entirely by men, a boys night out if you will."

Various girls around the room began to grumble their displeasure at the obvious sexism a millennia ago. I spotted a free seat at the very end of the last of three rows, a sandy haired man, by the looks of it had commandeered that particular seat for his bag to rest on. Professor Hopper was currently fiddling with the overhead projector as I made my way along the rear wall.

"Excuse me, would you move your bag." I said in a hushed tone. He barely looked at me as he huffed out a sigh, dropping his bag to the floor and shuffling his feet over.

"Well, as you can imagine these boys were deep thinkers, the play itself focuses at one level with the genesis, purpose and nature of love, at another with nature of knowledge. How do we know what we know?" he questioned, looking around at the packed room each student sinking further into their seats.

"Soul mates are a myth!" a girl shouted.

"That may be your interpretation Miss Lucas, but I guarantee you each person within these four walls will have their own unique perspective."

I rolled my eyes, I was with Miss Lucas, whomever she may be, and the notion of soul mates was ludicrous.

"Well, in this soul mate _myth_," he emphasised myth, staring poignantly at Miss Lucas, "there were three different kinds of human creatures: men, woman and individuals with both sexes-"

"Hermaphrodites," someone interrupted.

"Yes, good observation, take note of that. Humans originally each had four arms, four legs, two faces, four ears and two sets of genitalia."

"Got the visual?" the boy next to me whispered, his breath tickling my ear.

"We as humans became arrogant, thus began to question the will of the Gods, were they _really_ protecting us, and naturally, as with all evolution we wanted to know if we could take their place. The gods of course were completely horrified at that prospect, that we dare to question them or their standing. Finally after some debate between them all Zeus split them (us) in half, rendering them (us) less powerful, condemning them (us) to spend our lives yearning for our other half to complete us, our soul mate."

"Nice guy." He whispered again.

Professor Hopper continued, "To provide comfort, the ever powerful Zeus allowed us to have sexual intercourse with another half. Creatures who had been only male, sought out another male, females sought out females. Those with both sexes sought out the opposite sex-half, the likes of which they had been separated from."

"I think, the thought is intriguing, that this particular soul mate theory encompasses the idea that love is love, regardless of the gender; especially at _that_ time, but don't you agree that these ideas are based on fear?" The boy turned towards me, "I'm Robin by the way." He smiled.

He was looking at me, expecting a reply, I found myself becoming transfixed with his beautiful blue eyes, the colour so bright and vivid, luring me in, his long thick eyelashes teasing me, shielding the windows to his soul. I shook my head, I had a boyfriend, I _should not _be looking at another like this, snapping myself out of my day dream, I could see he was smiling at me as I began to speak,

"I think we can forgive those ancient writers, whom _now _have ancient ideas, although some of their thoughts _could_ be considered modern now – an idea that has been etched firmly into our history, yet we have yet to fully embrace it. It is time to wise up; I mean really, some of us think that our parents have outdated ideas, why do we listen to two-thousand year old dead men, which know nothing of modern life instead of ourselves?" I look at him and he's smirking at me.

"Yes, you raise a valid point there, what was your name; I don't believe we have met?" The professor is standing two feet away from me, his glasses perched on his noise still, he startled me, I jumped. My hand that was resting on my lap leaped up to the arm rest of the chair, brushing against the boys, I hadn't realised the professor was prone to wandering – which Robin was _obviously_ fully aware of.

"Regina," I spluttered, "Mills." Robin snickered beside me, I jabbed him with my elbow as inconspicuously as I could.

"Well Miss Mills, you raise a valid point, why do you think it is important that we do not let the views, morals and ideas of the likes of Plato be forgotten? Hmmm, it is important to be reminded, that _we_ as a human race are imperfect, sometimes we completely overlook the simplicity of life, we tend to complicate matters a lot more than they need to be." He speaks answering his own question as he walks back to the front of the class.

"Thanks for the warning," I spit, trying to quell my annoyance, "you could have told me he was there." He shrugs his shoulders, stretching his legs out and crossing them at his ankles. His skin tight jeans emphasise his well-toned muscles, I inwardly groan, guilt bubbling up, I _am only looking I reason_.

"Now we move on to fantasy, fairy-tale and fables." Professor Hopper says as he pulls up a projection of a Hans Christen Andersen story.

"Throughout our vast history, all over the world humanities search for wholeness has been depicted in the_ soul mate theory_, this search has been delved into, explored, deepened by myth, fairy tale and legends; these are the romantic notions of our time.

It is the story of the prince's search for a woman,to whom the glass slipper belongs to in Cinderella; it is that one perfect kiss that brings Sleeping beauty to life.

It is Belle's love, acceptance and ability to see the man behind the beast that causes the Beast to be transformed to his human form."

"What about Snow White?" another girl questions.

"Well, that is an entirely different tale don't you think," murmurs of agreement sound around the room, "It is the Queen's vanity that pushes poor young Snow White to flee her home into the unknown wilderness."

"How do we really know for sure though, that our modern interpretation of that particular story is accurate, it makes no logical sense for a Queen to be as _jealous_ as the Evil Queen is portrayed. Why would a person's beauty propel such blood lust?" I bit my lip; I hadn't meant to voice my inner thoughts, but I had always felt the Queen had been misunderstood.

"Yet again, you make an excellent point Miss Mills, these fairy tales, and fables we have each grown up hearing; which in turn we each draw our own conclusion on these stories, life lessons and teachings. You may be right; perhaps there is a deeper issue at play with the Queen's quest to rid her kingdom from Snow White. But alas, it is something we will never know for certain; but it is left wide open to our interpretation."

My teeth were firmly attached to my lower lip as I stole a glance at the boy/man beside me, I couldn't quite decide if he were a boy or a man. Looking at the clock I realised that the lecture was almost over, a few people began shuffling impatiently, gathering their belongings.

"Next lesson we shall focus on the religious aspect, I want you to each join with a partner and write a thousand word essay on your own personal interpretation of soul mates, then I want you to both analyse the others work and seek out any similarities, and if they have any common meanings to you both. That's all; I shall see you next week!" The professor gathered his briefcase and made a quick exit.

"So," Robin turned to face me, his knee grazing my thigh lightly, "Miss Mills, would you do me the honour of being my partner for this assignment?" I could listen to his sexy British accent all day.

I took a moment to consider, I must of nodded subconsciously for he said,

"Well then, you've got yourself a partner." he assumed he had my agreement, which he did not.

"I don't remember asking for one." I replied, glaring at him.

"You didn't," he said. I arched my brow at him tilting my head, I felt his gaze glide over me as I stood.

"What are you waiting for?" I questioned as I began to walk away, I could _feel_ him following...

* * *

><p><strong>Thank-you so much for reading, I will update soon, please review :) ~ ID<em><br>_**


	2. Reunited

· **A/N: I can't thank you all enough for your reviews, follows and favourites, it means a lot to me. My thanks again go to the wonderful **_RufflesParasol _**for her help, and persuading me that this fic is good enough to post. Thanks chick! Here is chapter two. I'd love to hear what you think, Enjoy. I am also on twitter InquisitiveDrea - come say hello :)**

* * *

><p>"What no hello? No, <em>'how are you?'<em> Where's my hug Regina?" He says, "In fact, just the latter, the former doesn't matter. I have travelled a long way y'know." I smile at his words and step towards him instantly, into his waiting arms. He wraps his arms tightly around me, squeezing my waist and I feel myself returning the tightness of his embrace.

_Who could really say how much time should pass before a hug became awkward_ – _you never can really tell can you?_ I eventually attempted to untangle my hands from around his neck, but it was futile, he just hung on tighter. Stepping on his toes shocks him enough though for me to wiggle my right hand out from between our bodies.

"Hey," I said, somewhat sternly, trying to encourage him to back off a little.

"What?" he replies, "I've really missed you Regina," he says as he captures me tightly against his body again, nuzzling his head down into the crook of my neck.

"I need to breathe Robin."

He abandoned his vice like grip on my body and grabbed my hand instead.

"It's been a long time," he said, "I didn't realise how much I had missed you until you were in my arms."

"Smooth, Robin, what are you doing here?" I said trying to wriggle my hand out of his grasp. He wasn't usually this touchy-feely, it was disconcerting.

"Well Dr Mills, what I am doing here must remain a surprise, I am under strict instructions not to reveal my true intent _to you_," he grinned at me.

"What on earth are you talking about? What's going on?" I question, as I almost have to drag my hand out of his.

"I have been recruited, if you will," he smiles mischievously at me, "to take part in something very special, something which I think you will love, if you'll relax. Would you just please sit down?" he says annoyed at my fidgeting.

I walk over to the sofa beside him and clumsily knock some books off of the arm, by accident, as I sit down. _I feel nervous_ that he's here _in the flesh_ and I've no logical explanation for that.

"You know I hate surprises, can you just tell me what's going on?" I come close to pleading.

"I know you love some surprises, like in the mornings-" I cut him off by slapping his knee, he laughs uncontrollably for a few seconds. "No, I'm just kidding, you'll love this one! But I told my 'recruiter' that I wouldn't arrive until 3pm and that gives me a little over two hours to explain it all to you – see I pre-planned this, aren't you proud?" He checks his watch "No wait, 90 minutes. Not that it'll take that much time," I glare at him harshly and he holds his hands up in a _'hey don't blame me'_ gesture.

"Well come on then, _tell me._"

"NO!" he shouts all too loudly. I jump back a little startled by his raised tone. "First we are going to have a catch-up, Skype is all well and good, but it's nice to be face to face for once. I do believe it has been three years old friend." I rest my chin on my hand and turn to watch him _– if we only use 10% of our brains and it is believed that we have a psychic capability somewhere in the remaining 90% I couldn't make it work_ – I had no idea what he was up too.

"I've brought some recent photographs of Roland to show you, he's growing up so fast, he has changed a lot since you last saw him," he says as he bends down to open his 'man bag'. I smile.

He pulled out a big leather bound album and perched it on his lap, I made to grab it but he swatted my hand away.

"We can look at them together, come closer," I huff out a sigh and shift slightly closer to him. He opened the first page of crisp white paper with _'My family'_ etched in a cursive gold font. I smiled brightly, internally though; my heart ached - _like_ _it always did._

The first photograph was like lightening striking the ground, _quick_, unexpected and only happens once. It wasn't of Roland. It was the _actual_ ultrasound picture I'd given him all those years ago in the college bar, the edges frayed and the image faded - _the night in which everything changed for me. _He turned the page.

We sat there for a long time, laughing at the photos, some brought tears to my eyes. Particularly the ones of Henry's birthday parties when he was a small child, before Robin moved; I was also surprised to find a few old photos of me and Robin together at college functions.

At some point during the hour or more that we sat there, my head found its way to rest on his shoulder, an unconscious movement, his hand resting on my knee. When we had finished 'cooo'ing' and 'aaaahhh'ing' over his sons' many adventures, he turned and kissed my head.

"Well it's about time I told you what all the fuss was about isn't it, _birthday girl_?" he said turning his head slightly.

"I can't believe I forgot it was my birthday tomorrow!" I said, falling back against the sofa.

"Well, isn't it lucky, that you have a fantastic Son, that has planned everything so expertly, I don't know where he gets it from," he winks and smiles.

"I am," I say. He looks perplexed. "Very, lucky." He smiles shyly and starts twirling the ring on the middle finger of his left hand.

"Well, Henry decided to combine your birthday celebrations with a reunion of old college friends. I thought it was touching, probably the only reason I was invited."

"God Robin, don't say that!" I say, horrified at his words. He patted my knee as he stands. I feel the chill of the room envelope me as he rises, I already missed the warm body that had been sitting beside me.

"So who's coming?" I asked, cringing slightly.

"Hmmm, that m'lady, will be a surprise." He smiled devilishly.

Reaching down he grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet, we stand staring eye to eye; me trying to 'death stare' him into revealing the guest list and his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Come'ere." he pulled me close into a tender, gentle hug. "Happy Birthday-for tomorrow," he said pulling back and looking into my eyes, he then quickly kissed my lips. So quickly I wasn't sure if I had imagined it. I stand in the middle of my office with my fingers slowly ghosting over my tingling lips.

"You're a chancer Mr Locksley, nice to see some things don't change."

"You'd be disappointed if I hadn't done that, go on admit it!" He looks so serious I can't help but dissolve into laughter, he soon joins me. His phone starts to ring and he excuses himself from the room.

**0o0**

I was indeed grateful for the banality (as I thought it was), that interrupted my day. Mary-Margaret was right, my bad, pensive mood changed into one of pure happiness. I returned to the sofa with my laptop perched on my lap. Caught up in a nostalgic mood I clicked open my videos folder and waited. A few minutes later Robin returned with two steaming cups of coffee.

"Careful, it's hot," he cautions, handing me a cup.

"I thought you were expected?" I question him.

"That was your little Prince on the phone, I told him I was delayed at the moment and I would be there in plenty of time. He seemed satisfied by that, plus I'm rather enjoying spending this time, _alone_, with _you,_ too much to rush away." I raise an eyebrow suspiciously, at his emphasis on '_alone, with you_.'

"I have a few videos of Grace and Henry singing that was too big to e-mail, do you want to see?" I say nervously (_I still couldn't put my finger on why),_ adjusting the laptop on my lap as I kicked my killer heels off and pulled my legs up and underneath me.

"With you? Always." he replies,_ it is like he is looking right into my soul with his penetrating gaze._

I couldn't process the seemingly hidden meanings to some of the things that he was saying. It was confusing, but lovely. _I can pretend for a while_, I decide. We've never, in the time we've known each other, spent time together like this- _well not since college._ It is long over-due and I intend to cherish it. We have always been friends, for all the years I have known him. He was the only person who was _truly_ there for me when Daniel left me alone, and later, when I had Henry.

Robin moved closer to me, his arm stretching out along the back of the sofa, his hip snug against mine. I turn to look at him.

"Smooth move, what is this? The 80's?" I say, he smiles and places his hand on my shoulder as he pulls the laptop off my lap.

"I would like to be able to watch my Godson too," He looks at me quietly for a few seconds, then he shocks me by pulling me tight against his side, I began to pull away; but he won't let me.

"Stay right here, for once, please indulge me." I look at him quizzically for a moment and then hit play on the video; he kisses my head and we watch 30mins worth of new videos of his _godson _that he's never seen before.

**0o0**

_Nothing lasts forever; it just has to last long enough._ In all of the time I have known Robin I don't think we've ever spent quiet time like this. Just the two of us, sitting together, sharing our unique and unbreakable connection; and I don't expect we ever will do again. Turning my head slightly I look up and study his face, his hand is cupped over his mouth, his eyes filled to the brim with emotion. I see tears glisten and threaten to fall; I pause the video and put the laptop on the floor. Pulling myself out of his embrace, I turn my body fully towards him; his hand still cups his mouth as if he's trying to stop the tears from falling.

"Hey," I say stroking his face lightly, "What's wrong?" He bites back a sob as his eyes meet mine.

"I've made a right cock up of everything haven't I?" He grabs my hand tightly within his.

"What on earth are you talking about Robin? You have a wonderful life, a gorgeous wife - who even_ I _like," _sometimes, _I think to myself,_"_ - an amazing son, who is so talented it makes me sick. How could you not be proud?" I smiled. He didn't. _Uh oh._

I waited, hoping my silence would encourage him to fill the void – it didn't. He held my hand tight, and stared off into the distance.

"You were all bright and breezy not so long ago Robin, what on earth is the matter. Tell me, tell me now," I was firm, _perhaps too firm?_

"I was so happy to see you that I had forgotten - for that short time - the thoughts and feelings that have been overwhelming me recently." He looked away and down, ashamed.

"I think... I think _it's_ back..." He almost whispered.

"What is?" I ask the question I already know the answer to, _NHL and I'm not talking about hockey,_ but I couldn't face lending it a voice. "How do you know?" I all but whisper.

"I don't know for certain, I just have a feeling... I know something's wrong, it has been for a while. I'm scared; I don't know what to do." He turns away from me; I inhaled deeply, trying to stay calm and focused.

"Okay, so, we don't know for certain, unless you've became a psychic Mr. Locksley so, we will rely on medical science, shall we?" he nods.

"Do you trust me?" I ask.

"Yes," he answers immediately, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do some bloods and send you for an immediate MRI scan – certain privileges of this job you know," I force a smile I didn't feel, trying to reassure both him and myself.

I get up to make the phone call and return to sit by his side. Then the thought strikes me,_ where was his wife? Why was he here, talking to _me?_ Why travel thousands of miles? Where was Marian?_ So I ask.

"Where is your wife Robin, where's Marian?" I clarify; trying to hide the fear that has begun to seep into my voice. "Have you told her?" Now I can see how heavy his eyes are with worry and stress, dark circles and pale gaunt skin that I hadn't noticed before.

"Ah my lovely wife, she's been somewhat distracted recently. Initially I thought it was the stress of work, she's had a few big high profile cases of late. Last Monday my fleeting suspicions were confirmed; y'know when you suspect something, but are still surprised and shocked to find out that it's true? Yeah, that was me last week." I nod along, knowing all too well the shock of_ that type _of realisation, the one where the truth has been staring you in the face all that time. I know what _that _feels like.

"What happened? You don't need to confide in me, if you don't want too, but I'm here." I say gently.

"The client she was _'defending'_ on several counts of murder – I don't know if you've heard about it _here, _across the pond, but it has become clear he was involved in some bad stuff, not just the murders. That was the only thing the Crown could get him on; rumour among the College campus is the '_highly qualified'_ chemistry professor was in fact manufacturing and selling the purest- _if you can call it that_ - methamphetamine the United Kingdom has ever seen! A real surprise I can tell you, yet even more so, my darling devoted wife has been shagging the guy for the last 20 years!" He springs from the sofa angrily and wanders towards the window, he stands staring out at the hospital garden, bright with Spring bloom, twirling the white ceramic plant pot that contained the orchid 'he'd' given me many moons ago –_ the first Mother's day present from Henry._

"I'm so sorry Robin, that's awful, what are you going to do?" I cross my legs, clasping my hands firmly in my lap trying to quell my rage towards Marian. I never liked the woman, but I wasn't going to tell him that, _especially not now_. He stands quietly for a few minutes before replying.

"I knew something hadn't been right for the last few years, we'd drifted apart; didn't spend any time together, didn't have sex or really talk y'know? I just thought we'd fallen out of love and was desperately trying to deny that fact, to myself. Or perhaps we both were, caught in a rut, a routine neither of us envisaged nor wanted. Truth is, I don't know if I ever _really_ loved her – or perhaps I did in some small way, but our relationship was a mistake from the get-go. I was trying to forget someone and she was trying to hide a relationship with someone else."

"You don't mean that," I say as I rise from the sofa and walk towards him. "You're hurting, it's understandable, but trust me, don't diminish the love you shared with your wife. I know it hurts; but try to remember the good times, the happy times. Don't make it all about the bad. I know what she did was unforgivable – I have a feeling I might know all too well what you're going through. Trust me when I say this, don't waste your time hating her, you'll only end up hating yourself more." I say as I wrap my arms around his waist from behind, the need to comfort him overwhelming me.

"You see Regina, that's just it; I don't hate myself, nor her. I feel free – as if I've just been released from a long prison sentence. Now I can finally acknowledge my feelings, my ambitions; admit what I want from life. If I get the chance, that is." He clasps his hands around mine that rests against his stomach.

"I'm not saying I didn't care about her, I did and do. _I always will, _I suppose. Her little revelation though, has just helped me to realise that I married her for all the wrong reasons. I'm not angry and I'm not bitter. It's over, which is fine with me, I won't lie and say it didn't sting – finding out that I, her _husband,_ have in fact been the other man for our entire married life..." he said, taking in a deep breath, "but my pride will heal. She is still the Mother of my son."

I smile against his shoulder, relieved by the sense that he didn't have the hatred boiling inside him like I did when Daniel left. That kind of hatred only internalises itself and you end up hurting yourself mentally, if not physically, as a result.

"Come, sit, and I'll take some blood," I find myself missing the way in which I felt when our bodies were pressed together - _safe._ That feeling that I have never experienced with any other soul before, or since. As if with him, I was complete. _How ridiculous,_ I think, trying to shake the thought out of my head.

I retrieve what I need from the supply closet next door; pushing the trolley back into my office, I observe him as he sits on the sofa, head bent, and hands raking through his hair. He looks so scared.

I sit down beside him on the sofa, at an angle, gathering all the required paperwork and I pick up my pen.

Date of birth: 11th April 1979

Treating physician: _ Regina Mills. _

I fill out the tests I want done, I also check that I have the correct vials; I glance at the check list and give the instrument tray a cursory once over.

You should have in front of you: blood collection tubes, a tourniquet, cotton balls, bandage or medical adhesive tape, and alcoholic wipes. Make sure that your blood tubes and blood culture bottles have not expired.

All present and correct. _Tick_.

I bite my lip in silent contemplation; Robin has been the only constant in my entire life, the only one to never_ really_ leave me. I know logically I should be thinking like a Doctor, but I can't seem to turn off the torrent of 'what ifs' firing through my mind.

Standing, I walk over to the sink to wash my hands and to put on the sterile gloves.

I return to the sofa, retrieving a pillow from the trolley and place it on my lap. I take his arm, placing it on the pillow, turning it palm up. I wrap the tourniquet around his upper arm, tightly, just above his elbow. Our eyes meet, the emotion emanating from the man is one of utter fear. Running my hand down the length of his arm I tap his wrist comfortingly.

"Can you make a fist for me?" I ask and he does. I begin patting his skin gently, looking for a suitable vein. I find one and trace it with my finger to encourage it to dilate. Swabbing the area with an alcohol wipe I automatically say, "This might sting a little," its muscle memory and I almost roll my eyes. The needle enters the vein quickly and blood begins to fill the tubes, one by one. Once all the tubes are filled I place them inside the clear plastic envelope and seal it with my now free hand.

I place a cotton ball on top of the needle, applying slight pressure as I pull it out. "Can you put some pressure on that while I find a Band-Aid" I say.

"I'm-"

"You're allergic," we both say at the same time, the ghost of a smile appears on his face, "I'll get you a piece of tape, hold on a second." He almost gives me a full smile, not quite his genuine crooked smile, but close enough.

I tear off a piece of medical tape, avoiding Robin's thumb and I cover the cotton ball, fastening it securely to his arm; my fingers find their way to his wrist rubbing soothing circles.

"What are you testing for?" he enquires.

"FBC's, U's & E's, LFT's & Clotting," His blank stare tells me he doesn't know, "To check your white and red blood cells. Your platelet count and how well your liver and kidneys are functioning, this is all a precaution." I smile, hopeful.

**0o0**

I find myself nervously pacing up and down the corridor outside of the MRI suite, tense and worried, torn between going back to my office or marching right into the observation room to watch. I know I am not supposed to try and read scans of any kind before they are complete, nor should I attempt too. If I see something I didn't like the look of I might break down and I can't afford to; Robin needs me to be strong.

Fear of the unknown is often worse than facing the_ reality_ of any given situation. Fear is that strange 'filter' that every single one of us are born with. It's not something we learn, it's built into our genetics. It can cause all sorts of problems; damage confidence, self-esteem, relationships, happiness and more.

That invisible psychological barrier that is fear, the primary attribute in you, that is stopping you from communicating confidently. Like kryptonite to superman as fear is to us. Fear is the acid that eats away at confidence. Fear is the Achilles of self-confidence.

Fear isn't an emotion I welcome into my life; however it seems I have no choice than to greet it and roll with its punches. That deep gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, my heart racing at 100 miles per hour, feeling like everything is fading and blurring. It's a natural response to any given situation that is out with the 'norm'.

Fear of the unknown is all well and good, you have mentally prepared yourself for the possible situations in which you might encounter it; you're waiting on that feeling of bile rising into your throat. It's when fear surprises you, _quickly in a way in which you never could of imagined_, that is, when _it is worse_. You're not prepared for it, every single system in your body shuts down and all you can focus on is that one thought, that one situation.

I have experienced many types of fear in my life, each one worse than the last. I don't quite know if that has anything to do with the different situations I've found myself in, or diminished memories, little bits and pieces falling into the deep dark abyss.

This time however, it was emotional fear that was paralysing me, about Robin. _Mentally _rooting me to the spot, making me unable to focus or to think.

I turn back to take another lap of the corridor and the door opens. Robin wanders out with his right hand behind him trying to keep his hospital gown closed at the back -_ an attempt at preserving his modesty no doubt._ Our eyes meet and he smiles.

"I bloody hate that machine, all that noise, all the while I am acutely aware of what it_ could _mean_. _I really wish I didn't have the knowledge that I do." He says and I laugh at the look on his face as his gown nearly gets away from him.

"Why don't you go and get changed, so we can get out of here?" I say bluntly. I don't want him to know what I am about to do. I find my eyes firmly fixed on the slither of skin of his rear end, which is peeking out from the hospital gown as he walks away.

Pushing open the door Robin had just come out of, I enter the small corridor that leads to the MRI machine. I pull the heavy steel door closed behind me – designed to keep the magnetic field in and any contaminates out. Making my way across the corridor I stop at the first open door, stepping inside I see a workstation fit for a _space shuttle_, computer monitors and various buttons and controls scatter across the six-foot desk, I see images of 1mm slices of high resolution scan's sorting themselves together – like building blocks, layer by layer at a time. It takes a while for all the data to form a shape that even vaguely resembles a human body. I see black of fat, arteries and muscle and the white of fluorescent bone; I can't see enough detail to work out which part of the scan is coming to life before me. Turning towards the technician I say;

"Elena this is a high priority case, how fast can you get me the results?" Hoping against hope I still have some friends left in this building, _at least in radiology_.

"Ah Dr. Mills, I didn't see you there. Do you mean that nice young English gentleman who was just in the scanner?" I nod. "Well, I have an urgent neurology case which takes precedent I'm afraid after that I'll sort his scans out ASAP," the elderly English or perhaps Welsh -_ it was hard to tell_ - woman informed me.

"Would you be so kind as to phone me with the results? What kind of time frame are you thinking?" I prodded, I didn't want to chance my luck, but I was desperate.

"Well, I can't promise you it'll get done before 6 tomorrow. Do you want me to forward the scan results to anyone else?"

"Yes, I want Dr Marino to check them over; he's waiting on your call. Said he was available to come here if need be. Will you save them in PDF and e-mail them to me when you can? Or really any file I can read from home? I know you don't owe me anything, and it has been a while since I was last down here, but I would be eternally grateful." I say hopeful.

"Of course, anything for you, now if you'll excuse me I'd better get a wriggle on, this work won't do itself, sadly." she replied.

I smiled as I left, returning to the outer corridor just in time to meet Robin, who had just exited the changing rooms.

"Are we ready?" he asks.


	3. Coffee and revelations

**A/N: Hello lovely readers, I can't thank you all enough for your wonderful reviews! They mean a lot. Here is chapter three; there is a flash-back, which should be easy to spot. Enjoy! ~ID**

**0o0**

"How excited; on a scale of 1 to 10 is Henry about this party? Because quite frankly I would rather just stick to family, I'm not sure if I can be bothered with all of this unnecessary excitement." I say as we move to stand against the wall, to let a porter pushing a patient on a trolley pass us.

"Well, you don't have to worry about any of that tonight," Robin states, "The party isn't until the day after tomorrow. I arrived earlier than originally planned, thought I could help Henry iron out a few of the details." He smiled fondly as we continue to walk.

"Oh, good, how about we grab my bag from the office and we'll get take-out on the way home?" I suggest. "Oh, unless you don't plan on staying with us, of course you've probably booked a hotel room or something-" He looks at me strangely for a millisecond, a thought passes through his eyes. That I cannot decipher, and then it's gone...

"I'd love to stay with you and Henry, if you're sure that is alright? I didn't want to presume and just show up; I haven't had a chance to book a hotel or anything yet. You sure I won't be stepping onto another guy's 'turf' so to speak?" He quipped.

"Most definitely not, it's just Henry and I; you need to worry about upsetting." I nudge him playfully with my elbow.

"What happened to that guy you had been seeing? What's-his-name, the cop?" he asks.

"The 'Cop' Robin, really? Ah, he was a detective, a really great guy for the most part. Just one huge problem... He didn't like kids, or more specifically he didn't like Henry – not that he made it easy for him. My darling son has had a great love affair with pulling pranks this last year or so, seems the detective was a prime target, or so I assume. Henry was very protective of me, more so towards the end, perplexing really. Probably for the best that it ended when it did in retrospect, I am happy now, just me and Henry."

"How is it possible to _not_ like Henry? – What did he do? Or don't I want to know?" He asks and I glare at him.

"You're his Godfather, you have to say that. No, you do not want to know, I am certain if you stick around long enough, you'll become personally acquainted with Henry's new love, you can trust me on that." I say as we come to a stop in front of Mary-Margaret's desk.

"Okay, I'll take your word for it. Wow, how bad could a twelve year olds pranks _really be_?"

"Robin, he's a little bugger – as you English would say." I reply.

"Mary-Margaret, did you find the time to phone George, to find out an ETA for my poor car?" I ask her. She's grinning at me, her eyes flitting between Robin and myself.

"Something happened to your car?" Robin says, "Don't tell me you put petrol in instead of diesel aga-" I elbow him in the stomach before he can continue to bring that embarrassing memory to light.

"No," I say, as he tries to make a grab for my elbow, "No I did not, I noticed some fluid leaking from it this morning, and that together with a light being on, on the dash for a few days I decided to get my mechanic to have a look at it." I answer him, my assistant is staring at us both, a look of amusement on her face, it is as if she is privy to a secret in which we are not.

"Ah, Doctor Mills!" I was startled to see George enter the office. "I was just coming to drop your keys off with Mary-Margaret here."

George, my mechanic was a clever man, well educated, not that that would be the first thought that would spring into your mind when you first laid eyes on him. No, he was, perhaps stereotypically, dressed in blue coveralls. You could just make out the scuffed steel toe-capped boots that peaked from under his oversized attire, from what you could see of them, they looked beaten and well used. His large stomach had long since hidden the view of his feet from him; his round face was framed by his grey wispy hair, scruffy beard and he spoke with a thick Scottish accent.

"You didn't have to come all the way down here George; I would have happily stopped by your garage to pick my car up. I do hope Mary-Margaret didn't request that you bring it here?" I asked glaring at the woman to my right.

"Relax lassie, she didn't. I thought I had better tell you what I have to tell you in person. I've just finished for the day and yer lovely assistant here couldn't tell me when you would be free to collect your car." George replied.

Nodding my understanding I asked, "Did you find what was leaking? What was the issue?"

I could see George and Mary-Margaret looking at one another, with odd expressions etched on both of their faces. My assistant shook her head slowly at George.

"Right, well, there is no easy way of saying this. But if you hadn't have noticed that fluid, or if you had ignored the wee light on your dash for another day, you and your young lad most certainly would have died, or at the very least been seriously injured." My mechanic says factually.

I furrow my brow, confused. I feel Robin step closer to me, the palm of his hand gliding across my back, over my hip and stopping at my waist, fingers splayed half on my stomach, he reassuringly squeezes once.

"Whatever do you mean?" I ask baffled.

"Well, your brake pipes were porous, brake fluid- that was what was on your garage floor by the way - has been dripping out for some time. What has me stumped however is the manner in which it was done." I lean more heavily on Robin now.

"It was 'done'?" Robin growls from beside me.

I place the hand that is not trapped between our bodies on Robin's chest as I say, "Are you saying someone did this on purpose?"

He nods.

"First of all, I'm going to explain to you why the way in which this was done has me stunned. Your car, Dr Mills, is brand new. Well _almost_, when it leaves the manufacturer new cars, or most of them now-a-days, have steel brake pipes that are coated in plastic, are you following?" We all nod out heads, 'yes'.

"Your car was no exception to this, while I had it up on the ramp I quickly identified that the fluid was leaking from one of the brake pipes, it wasn't until I drained and removed the gas tank could I see clearly how the damage came about. The plastic coating had been pulled back and several, small 2 millimetre holes were drilled into the steel pipes. If whoever did this hadn't of peeled back the plastic coating I may never have noticed it." George finishes.

"Who the hell would do that?" Robin growled, his hold on me had tightened throughout George's explanation.

"I have no idea," I reply, clueless, "I always keep my car in the garage attached to my house, and, if I have it here I park in the staff car park." I say. I was in complete shock.

"I highly doubt that it would be possible for anyone to give you any kind of a time frame Dr Mills, but I suggest that you report it to the police. If they are looking for evidence, tell them to come see me. In the meantime, I replaced the brake pipes and gave the car a good look-over. It's safe to drive." He handed me the keys.

"Thanks George, how much do I owe you?" I tried to pull away from Robin in order to retrieve my purse. He wasn't for letting go of me. I glared at him.

"I'll mail you the bill Doctor; don't you worry about that just now. See you all later!" He waved as he left.

"What the hell?" Robin spat the second George had left the office.

"I'm just going to run these medical files back down to records, do you need me for anything else today Regina?" My assistant asked.

"No, you can go home." I said. I watched her hurriedly grabbing her coat and bag, leaving as quickly as she could.

"Let. Go. Of. Me!" I snapped at Robin.

He did.

* * *

><p>The rain lashed against the windows, droplets racing each other down the glass, twisting and turning, joining together as they slide, the windscreen wipers waving feebly in their attempts to catch them, squeaking <em>annoyingly<em> against the re-enforced glass.

The loud thudding as the pellets of icy cold rain hits the roof. The crashing of the thunder far up above us, lightening splitting the sky and illuminating the pebble-dashed glass; the water was falling like sheets all around us, pooling at the sides of the road and running from the massive oak trees, desperate in its quest to reach the ground. The air turned colder and the rain fell harder, darkness fell almost instantaneously and lightening cracked the sky again, providing an eerie glow. The rushing of water cascading over the bonnet and the deafening trill of it smashing against the glass made me shiver.

I sat in this steel haven, safe from the elements, with a man I had just met an hour prior...

"Do you have a brolly?" he asks me, I look at him confused.

"A… _what_?"

"A brolly, or umbrella I guess you would call it," he responds.

"No, I don't."

I feel his eyes sweeping over me as I turn to look at him; the rain is still bouncing down, outside of the car, showing no signs of letting up, I attempt to assess our dilemma. We are parked across the street, from the coffee shop in which we had decided to visit, or more aptly _he decided_. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, in the short time in which we have been acquainted.

"Well," he began, "I see only two options available to us; One: We stay right where we are and discuss our project here, safe and oh-so snug, from the storm raging outside. Or. Two: We make a run for it."

I arch my eyebrow as I turn my head to face him again.

"Ready?" I question, "On the count of three, we run?" He nods his head in agreement.

"One," I gather my bag.

"Two," I wrap my scarf tightly around my head.

"Three," I throw open the car door, slamming it loudly behind me I run as fast as I can across the empty street. "Come on, you're such a _slow coach_." I laugh as I reach the entrance to the coffee shop.

We huddle together under the small entrance way to the café for a moment, both of our chests heaving, each of us trying to get our breathing under control, stupid goofy smiles plastered on both of our faces.

"After you, m'lady," he holds the door open for me. I smile and bite my lip as I brush past him, the back of his hand skims the part of my stomach, which has became exposed as I squeeze past.

**0o0**

Walking in to the coffee shop immediately I could see that it was very busy; no doubt every other person in the city had the same idea that we did, escaping the sudden downpour and with it, the storm that was currently raging outside. The booths that lined the small shop were all packed full of people. The servers dodging expertly in-between the tables in the centre, over fallen coats, dripping umbrellas and rucksacks packed full of books. The air was stifling in here, it was obvious that there were no spare booths or even tables, I turn to tell him this, but just as I do, I feel him grip my hand and start to tug me forwards gently. I open my mouth to protest, but he nods his head towards the back of the crowded shop. Shrugging my shoulders I follow, drops of rain sliding down my face.

As we make our way through the minefield of people's belongings, he still gripped my hand lightly, I was conscious of it, yet at the same time I wasn't. My attention drifted to the art that adorned the walls, the style was very much in keeping with the rest of the décor. What looked like red velvet covered each booth; the tables were a light oak coloured wood, small black lamps protruding from the wall. Above each table hung a landscape of a faraway land, some depicted rolling green hills and grazing animals, others vast deserts, with camels and pyramids. Each painting had the same gold coloured frame; although by the intricate carvings I suspected that they were actually wooden. The images of the horses entranced me, I was always drawn to those animals, and I had always felt an incredible pull towards them.

I looked up; the ceiling was magnificent, forget the beautiful paintings that were hanging on the walls, it was the ceiling that was the _true_ masterpiece. When I was a child, I loved nothing more than visiting the beach. To walk bare-footed through the sand, to feel it slide between my toes, feeling how the texture changed as I got closer to the ocean. On these trips I would spend hours collecting shells, over the years I became fascinated with one type in particular, _pecten raveneli,_ or as it's more commonly known, a scallop shell. The symbology and meaning behind this particular shell lured me in; there are thought to be many tales and legend about this particular shell; however it was the possibility this was the symbol of the setting sun that captured my attention. In Celtic mythology it is thought that a Knight on his final journey, with his death being the end of his road, fell into the sea of darkness (Atlantic Ocean), fully submerged, and rose covered in these shells and he survived. There are many paintings of Venus, the Roman goddess of love and fertility, which include a scallop-like-shell in each of the paintings to identify her. I had been given a delicate shell necklace many years ago, when I was a child, a gift I have worn and treasured carefully ever since.

My eyes sweep over the ceiling. Black beams took the place of the ridges, meeting in the middle, incurving, joining a huge arch; the ceiling was the image of an inverted shell. I was transfixed, mesmerised. I followed contour of the beams, dangling from the highest point a circular chandelier, with what looked like candles illuminating the ceiling, casting a warm engulfing glow all around.

On the right, the booths gave way to an elegant, imposing bar, which wrapped around the curved wall. I noted the different kinds of shells carved into the oak wood surrounds and, at either end of the bar, almost like bookends, stood two majestic wood carvings of horses that I knew I recognised, but couldn't recall from where.

Through a small latched door, small enough, so that both Robin and myself had to crouch down low to walk through it; we entered a huge, unoccupied room. In the middle of the wall in front of us stood a large fireplace. Dark oak wood framing the cast hood and in the beautiful ornate portcullis – bottom-grate; a fire was burning brightly, the flames reflected splendidly onto the shiny black-slate hearth. To the right of the fireplace sat a handful of table and chairs, each wrought iron, with wonderfully elaborate and complex detailed flowers, apples and twisting and curving leaves. To the right sat a pair of deep, well-worn brown leather arm chairs, and a coffee table the same oak colour as the fireplace, which was perched a few inches from the chairs.

The _man/boy_ began to pull off his jacket, it was soaked right through. The slight sound of water dripping mixed pleasantly with the crackling of the fire; his damp t-shirt was clinging to him in all the _right places_. He hung his jacket up on the coat stand beside the fireplace, turning, he stretched out his hand for mine too. That gave me enough of a shock back into reality and stopped me from openly checking him out. Once I had removed my sopping, dripping coat, I handed it to him along with my scarf; as he turned, I could just make out the outline of something under his white t-shirt. It had tented slightly and, at this angle, I could see specs of what looked like blood. But before I could mention it he motioned for me to sit down.

"What would you like to drink? They serve alcohol as well as coffee, or tea?"

"Coffee please," I responded, "black, no sugar." His eyebrows raise and he nods his head knowingly; I bite back the urge to slap him.

As he left, I turned around and surveyed, finally getting the chance to have an uninterrupted look at the room in which we had found ourselves - deep staggered white coving framed the ceiling, in the centre of the roof, a beautiful circular ceiling rose; adhered to which six individual unique roses swelled out, the stems and thorns running the circumference joining and weaving together, echoing the wrought iron tables and chairs perfectly.

A deep, chunky- varnished picture rail separated the lower half of cream, from the forest-green leaves stemming from the cream roses of the wall paper on the top. The only thing that was out of place was the fridge that buzzed loudly in the corner. This was a fantastic little hidey-hole; one I would be visiting again, _my new haunt_.

The varnished floorboards begin to squeak, a sense of panic washes over me, I quickly sit down on one of the arm chairs, immediately I sinking deep into it, or more apt being swallowed by it.

"Here you go, one black coffee – no sugar." He says as he places both cups atop of the coffee table before sitting down on the chair to my left. I reach forward, sliding the cup closer to me.

"So," He begins. "Where are you from Regina?"

That wasn't the question I was expecting to fall from his lips._ I need to stop thinking about his lips... _

"I'm from a little town in New England, and you?" I reach forward, picking up my cup, blowing on the steaming liquid.

"I'm from a little town in _OLD England_," He turns to me, smiling devilishly. He's taunting me, I ignore him. "No, I am in fact from a little town just outside of London, but I mostly grew up in the countryside." He tilts his head looking at me curiously.

"Something which we both have in common, I grew up in the country-side," I muse, he turns towards me fully then. I break eye contact, I am beginning to feel something akin to indifference towards this_ man/boy_ and that troubles me somewhat.

It is then that I notice the red dots more clearly now, the deep red is in stark contrast to the brilliant white of his t-shirt. I feel myself tilting my head, my hand reaching out of its own free will, before I snap it back. I place the cup fully back on the coffee table, choosing my words carefully.

"Did you get a tattoo?" I ask the logical explanation I think.

"Not recently... what do you mean?" his brow furrows at my question.

"Your shirt," I point towards the spots of blood, "You're bleeding."

"Oh," His face turns as crimson as his blood speckled shirt, "No, this is nothing." He turns away from me then, hiding his face and angling his upper body so that is now facing away from me too.

"Robin," It's the first time I use his name, "That, whatever it is, is not nothing, trust me; once you work a rotation in the ER there isn't anything that can shock you." I see him visibly tense at my words.

He turns around then, to face me fully, our knees brush together. His head is still tipped down and to the side slightly. _He's obviously deeply embarrassed, perhaps even ashamed?_ Of all the things I was expecting to see when he raises his arms up, removing his shirt, I wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted me. There on his well-defined chest sits something you wouldn't expect to see on a _man/boy_ his age, a PICC line.

"You've probably knocked it," I say, picking up my rucksack from the floor. "That's what's caused the bleeding." I pull a smaller bag out and lay it open on the table.

"May I?" I say, pulling on some sterile gloves, "I'm just going to feel around to see if its been infected and that's why it's started bleeding, just to be sure." He nods, still silent.

I gently press around the catheter, I feel no abnormal swelling, and his skin is cool to the touch, however blood still seeps out lazily from one side.

"Right, okay, while I'm still only still a student. Final year or not, I can find no reason for it to be bleeding that would cause me to worry; I do think you've probably disturbed it with the seatbelt perhaps, but while I could remove it for you, you should probably get your doctor to do it and to check it out properly, just to be on the safe side." I say, beginning to remove my gloves.

His hand shoots out, grasping my wrist, "Can you take it out? I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow." The look on his face quietens the questions that are currently whizzing around my brain at light speed. _Has he got cancer? What kind? Or has got a serious infection that warranted a long course of antibiotics?_

I nod, with an anti-septic wipe I clean around the site and peel back the tape holding it in place. Grabbing a wad of cotton wool from my bag I slowly begin to remove the catheter, applying pressure as I go. The basilic vein is a large superficial vein that helps to drain blood from the arm. I see the blue wiggly vein moving slightly as I pull the tiny tube out.

_Slowly, slowly, gently does it._ I hear the voice of my attending speaking in my head. While a bleeding vein is preferable to a bleeding artery, I do not want to risk either. Some may say I am overly cautious but I choose to see it as being diligent.

As the last of the PICC line is pulled from Robin's body I look up. His chin is almost resting on his chest, eyes screwed shut. His teeth are biting his bottom lip in a way that can only be described as adorable. I place the now redundant line onto the table, picking up another alcohol wipe and a plaster. I gently clean round the small would, being as careful as I can be. It isn't until I actually touch the wound and feel the squeeze of a hand on my thigh, that I realise that his right hand had sat atop my thigh for a good five minutes. _Why didn't I notice before?_

I peel back the plaster, but before I can apply it Robin's hand shoots out, "Wait, I'm allergic."

"To..."

"Plasters, I can't have them touch my skin or it sends me in to ana-something." He states

"Anaphylactic-shock? Really?" I say stunned, this was a new one for me.

"Yes, not a nice experience, I assure you."

"I would imagine not. Is it okay if I put some surgical tape over this cotton wool, to keep the wound covered?" I ask.

"Yes." He nods, "Aren't you going to ask?" He enquires. I imagine that he's used to that, people pointing and staring, thinking that they have the right to be privy to every detail of his life.

I attempt to give him back a semblance of privacy. "Ask what?"

"About the PICC, I know _you know_ what it is." His eyes look right through me, "N.H.L non-Hodgkin lymphoma." He finishes.

_This poor man,_ I think to myself, _for he is a man, no doubt about that. _I am acutely aware of the statistics involving NHL, not that I would repeat them to him; No, I recite them to myself in my head. Damn my photographic memory.

"Ah," I place the tape securely on his chest before balling the gloves around the PICC and standing."I'm just going to go see if I can find an appropriate way to dispose of these." I steal a glance at him; he's smiling widely at me as I begin to walk away.

* * *

><p><strong>0o0<strong>

Storming into my office I grabbed my black woollen coat, my bag, I turned around to pick up Robin's belongings, but found him already doing so himself. I feel a sense of dread creep up my spine as I shut down my computer and place a few files into my bag.

We walked through the hospital side by side, in utter silence, our hands grazing occasionally.

Robin held the heavy door to the staff car park open for me, the smell of freshly cut grass and sweet roses filled the air. Although the aroma would usually relax me, today it did nothing to appease my nervous stomach as we made our way towards my car.

"So what do you fancy for dinner?" I say as we get into my car. It had been a long day, and with the news of someone having intentionally tampered with my car brakes, I reasoned that I didn't have to cook. I wasn't even sure I could eat, my stomach had been in knots for the better part of the last hour, and showed no signs of relaxing.

"Whatever you want is fine with me, I'm not fussy, however we do need to talk about what just happened." Robin insists as we slide into the car.

"Why don't we phone Henry and see if he has any opinions?" I purposefully ignore him, placing my phone on the holder beside the steering wheel, turning on the Bluetooth to call my son. I see Robin shaking his head out of the corner of my eye, mumbling what sounds like '_stubborn_' to himself.

Henry's voice filled the car, young, enthusiastic and bright.

"Hey Mom! How's things?" He says.

"Hi darling, we're just on our way home and thought we'd pick up some take-out. Have you eaten?" I move my car into gear and begin the short drive home.

"_We?!_" He asks, the excitement clearly evident in his voice.

"Yes _we_ Henry," Robin replies before I can, smiling at me.

"_eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_" My ear drums nearly perforate at the high decibel noise. "How about getting some pizza and we can all sit on the sofa and watch a movie?" Henry replied.

"That sounds good, as long as your Mom doesn't subject us to any cheesy romantic films," Robin insists.

"When have you ever known me to watch cheesy romantic movies, Robin?" I ask, stealing a glance at him.

"Oh, you have subjected me to 'It's A Wonderful Life' more times than I care to admit."

"You too, huh?" Comes the voice of my son.

"What would you like on your Pizza?" I ask, before this turns into Henry telling Robin all of my secrets,_ like usual_.

"Anything's fine with me Mom, I'll go dig the fleecy blankets out of the airing cupboard and find a suitable film to watch, see you two soon!" He chirps before ending the call.

"Sorry, he's a little excitable these days," I say to Robin, glancing in the rear-view mirror. I notice that the car behind us has taken as many turns as I have,_ odd. _I'm paranoid I decide. "The latest craze amongst his group of friends is to sit on the living room floor amidst many cushions and wrap up in as many blankets as they can find, no matter the weather outside. I'm sure we can avoid having to indulge in that, if you'd rather not."

"Sounds like fun," Robin says and I groan inwardly. I have been trying to avoid such a movie night for the past few weeks. I prefer sitting on the sofa, a glass of Merlot in hand, reading a good book. My son, however, is the best negotiator I have ever met.

"Seriously," I say, turning off the main road and into a car park opposite the pizza place. "Do you want to come in or wait in the car?" I add, hoping he'll take the opportunity to rest, albeit for a few minutes. He looks shattered.

"Yeah, I'll stay here in the car, if you don't mind?" He responds. I take the keys out of the ignition and hand them to him, reasoning if he wants to stretch his legs he as the ability to enter and leave the car at will. "I won't be long," I say as I swing my bag onto my shoulder and head across the street.

The spring break is upon us, meaning that all of the reprobate's which are usually locked up indoors doing their homework – or stuck in school for detention - take it upon themselves to crowd the streets. Carefully I weave my way in-between them, hoping not to incite them at all. I enter the pizza place and my senses are immediately overwhelmed with the strong alluring smell of garlic. I am _addicted_ to the stuff; it goes well with almost everything.

"Hi, what can I get you?" The teenager girl behind the counter asks as she spots me.

"Hi, I'll have a large vegetarian pizza, and a large half four cheese and half meat feast please." I say, "Oh, and 3 portions of garlic bread." She smiles at me awkwardly as she writes down my order and rings up the price.

"That'll be $34.39 please." I hand over $40 and tell her to keep the change. She smiles brightly at me. _It really doesn't take much to make someone's day,_ I ponder.

I wander over to the front of the shop, a wall of glass, and absentmindedly I stare across at the car park, at my car. At Robin. I let my mind wander to _'what if's'. What if he has cancer again? What then? _I'm torturing myself, but I can't help it. Regardless of the past, I care deeply about him; I'm worried by the deep rings under his eyes, his pale colouring. I am worried about him in every way in which I shouldn't be – _not really._

_It isn't my place, _I reason, _but isn't it? _He's my best friend; surely that grants me some lei-way into it? He notices me watching and smiles, waving. I turn away out of embarrassed, from being caught staring.

Suddenly a man appears at my side.

"I thought it was you," I know that voice, the heavy weight of an arm settles on my shoulders and I gasp, trembling a bit. "How are you?" He enquires.

"I'm good. How are you?" I try to shrug his arm off. He doesn't budge, instead he tightens his grip. The knot that _had_ been tying in my stomach tightens tenfold; his body language and voice tone scream aggression.

"Oh you know, so-so. I'm grounded for the moment, but I suppose you know all about that," He spits.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, what happened?" I try to keep things light and calm, which is the complete opposite of how I'm feeling internally.

"That bloody delinquent son of yours! He messed with some very high-tech equipment, screwed some very important things up. Does he get the blame? No! It's bloody me who's forced in front of a disciplinary committee and accused of professional misconduct. Yes, fair enough, I shouldn't have had that certain device at home – but I shouldn't be punished for this, damn it!" He punches the counter to the side of him hard.

I managed to duck out the way of his arm and turn around to collect my order from the worried looking teenager, who has no doubt picked up on the obvious hostility pouring from the man beside me.

"I still have no idea what you're talking about." I say, and genuinely I don't know.

"He's fucked up my life,_ he is_ going to pay!" He whisperer's menacingly, as he invades my personal space again. Two employees stop mid-task and listen to his outburst.

"Seriously, he's a teenager; even he couldn't reach so far as to destroy anyone's life, try and have a think. Is there anything that could have possibly caused this, something else that you've done?" I say unnerved. He walks impossibly closer to me as he grasps my elbow tightly, threateningly.

Whispering angrily into my ear, "I'll make him pay, trust me I will."

I shudder at his words, but just then I feel strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, thumbs gently stroking my stomach through my sweater. I recognise the scent instantly and it calms me. He must have been watching, my back was to the window, how else would Robin have known how scared I was? _That I needed him?_ My mind flits back to a lecture long ago, the day in which we first met. I shake my head dismissively at the notion.

_Robin_.

He nuzzles his face into my hair, his lips grazing my neck, his stubble scratching lightly against my skin. _It's almost soothing, _I think.

"You ready to go darling?" His voice says as he picks up the pizza boxes that I left on the counter. "Come on." He pulls my clenched hands apart and encases one within his own.

"Always a pleasure," I say as I walk away from the man that has become so spiteful. My mind briefly registers the facial expression flashing on his face, contempt.

Once safely outside and away from him, I feel as Robin turns to me. I realise only then that he has yet to let go of my hand and I his. I look around briefly scanning my surroundings.

"Who was that?" He whispers.

"That," I say, "was no-one." But I can feel his eyes on us, watching.

"No-one huh? He was a little handsy for my liking. It looked like you were scared, are you okay?" He asks, concerned. I hold onto his hand tighter as we cross the road.

"I'm fine." I lie with a forced smile, I know he can see straight through me, through the lie; he doesn't need any extra worry, he doesn't call me on it, but he tilts his head to look at me.

We reach the car and Robin places the pizza boxes onto the back seat and leads me around to the passenger door. I get in without thinking; still holding on tightly to his hand. What a truly odd day, not just because of the worrying encounter I had just had, or George's revelation, but mostly because of my fear of the unknown that resides deep within me. Concern over what is about to happen to Robin - or what _is_ happening - what the MRI and blood reports will say, and the infinite number of possibilities that lay ahead.

"I need my hand to drive," He says breaking my train of thought. I let go reluctantly as he shuts the door.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He says as he starts my car, indicating and turning out of the car park heading towards my house.

"I'm fine, just really tired. Didn't expect to run into him of all people, today has been a day of surprises to say the least, some good," I say as I touch his hand. "Some bad."

I look out of the windscreen as the street of shops roll by, but my mind is far away from the calm countryside that comes into view.

**0o0**

The pizza boxes lay scattered on the oak coffee table, each of us having eaten our fill. I surprise myself and manage a few slices. We wait patiently as Henry retrieves his laptop from upstairs. As he has explained, he 'rented' a movie from iTunes and was connecting the laptop to the TV in the living-room, so we could watch it on a bigger screen. I nodded, agreeing. _What do I know about technology? _

I watch the hands on the clock as they tick silently by, waiting for a phone call or an e-mail about Robin's test results to land; my phone clutched tightly in my hands. We sit in an awkward silence, each of us not knowing what to say to the other. The appropriate conversation to be having at a time like this is eluding me. Me, not wanting to talk about my car, him, not wanting to talk about the possibility of his cancer being back, both of us bleeding concern for the other.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" I say, getting up from my chair in the corner of the room.

"That would be lovely thanks; do you have any Red, something light?" He replies.

There is a slight chill in the air, I'm not sure if it's just me that is feeling it, but I feel Goosebumps pepper my skin. I bend down. Kneeling on the marble hearth, scooping a few pieces of coal, I place them in between the logs, the beginnings of a fire that I had built the previous night, but had neglected to light because of a urgent page. I hope that the warmth of the fire will soothe my nerves. Grabbing the poker, I nudge the last few pieces of coal into place.

Standing up again, I feel Robin's eyes burning a hole into my back, I ignore him. I run my hand along the oak mantel piece, my eyes glancing at the three silver photo frames that sit there, proudly. One is of me, Robin, and a very newly arrived Henry; the first photograph I have of us all, together. The second, a five year old Henry sits dressed in his school uniform, a crisp white shirt, a grey sweater with yellow, red and black stripes coasting around the v-neck. The third, a photo I keep for Henry's sake, it makes my stomach churn and summons my inner rage each time I look at it. It's in a bar, near college, I sit on Daniels lap, both of us smiling widely at the camera; in the background Robin stands at the bar, his face partially obscured by a pillar, I never have been able to decipher his expression. Daniel is still Henry's Father, whether he has a relationship with my son or not. I have always made a point of being honest with Henry. Well perhaps I hadn't told him the _whole_ truth. I tell myself I am protecting him - _I hope I am right_.

I grab the box of matches, striking one; sulphur invades my senses as I light the fire. It begins sparking to life, I settle down on the hearth again, beginning to jab at the fire with the poker.

"I didn't know -" Robin begins as he stands behind me, I can feel his body heat on my back, "When that photo was taken, I didn't know what Daniel was up too. I had my suspicions, though."

"I certainly didn't, I missed all the signs," I say, the pain still hovers in the peripheral of my mind, "I hate that photo, it makes my blood boil. I only have it there because I don't want Henry to not know where he came from." I say, still poking the embers that are slowly coming to life.

"He was an idiot." Robin states, certainty laced through his tone of voice.

"Yeah, well..."

I feel his hand run through my hair, I automatically lean back into his touch.

He pats my shoulder and I lay the poker back in its holder, turning around to face him. He reaches his hands out to me, I take them as he pulls me to my feet.

"How about that wine?" he questions.

"Sure." I answer, walking towards the kitchen.

"Mom you haven't changed yet!"

"What are you talking about Henry?" I say, perplexed as to why my son is yelling at me about the state of my attire.

"We're having a movie night, you're supposed to be in comfy clothes, not work ones. Please go put something comfortable on," He insists, shaking his head scoldingly. I raise an eyebrow, half amused.

"I was just getting a glass of wine for Robin and me."

"I'll pour you two a glass! Just go get changed and meet us in the living room." He shakes his head at me.

I climb the stairs wondering when it was that I started taking orders from a teenage boy, well _almost_ teenage. I usually don't, but with Robin being here, the worry is overwhelming me. I'm letting him get away with things I shouldn't. I fear for him a little if truth be told. _Perhaps Robin will talk to him, get him to open up?_ He almost always confides in his godfather, always has.

By the time I enter the living room Henry has set up his laptop and paused the film; both Henry and Robin sit on opposite ends of the sofa. I look longingly at my worn leather chair in the corner but I decide against sitting there and squeeze myself in between Robin and Henry instead. The fire is now burning brightly, I hazard a guess that Robin had been tending it.

"Are we ready to start?" Henry says.

"Sure, have you got popcorn?" I ask him, smiling knowingly.

"I'll go get it, can't believe I forgot the most important part of 'movie night'!" He sings. "Robin has your wine."

I had meant to move, to slide along the sofa until I reached the end, to the space where my son had been sitting but, instead, I find myself rooted to the spot; staying close to Robin.

"Are you sure you're okay, Regina? You've been acting a little strangely since we left the Pizza place; you need to talk about what happened love." Robin places a hand gently on my arm.

"Yeah, I don't know. He blames Henry for something – I don't know what. He's insistent that Henry has done something. I just need to find out what... But I can't push Henry to talk, he'll just close down if I do that."

"Has he said anything to you about it? About what happened? What would cause Henry react so badly, it's not like him at all." Robin says

"I have no idea Robin, really, I don't. Everything was fine until one night. I have asked Henry, he just says he was, and I quote,_ 'an arsehole'._ A term he has picked up from you no doubt, so your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps you can talk to him?" I say hopeful.

"Of course I will, _Your Majesty_."

I turn to look at him, it's his term of endearment for me, that I have not heard him use in quite some time. A bright happy smile graces his lips as our eyes meet and I bury my head in his shoulder, embarrassed.

At some point, during the movie, I feel myself leaning against Robin more, and more. I am suddenly jerked awake however by the insistent ringing of my mobile; I untangle myself from Henry and Robin and walk into the hall to answer the PRIVATE NUMBER flashing on my screen.

My heart sinks and my body shakes.

* * *

><p><strong>Please review :)<strong>


	4. Fear of the unknown

**A/N: **Hello everyone!

So sorry it has taken me so long to update this fic! As some of you may know (if you follow the wonderful **RuffledParasols**), that we have been working on a joint fic – it's going to be OutlawQueen AU and it is set in a pretty special place. We're hopefully going to have the first chapter up this week, so look out for **DreamingofParasols.**

Most importantly I want to say THANK-YOU to Ruffles for always being there and knowing exactly how I want this to go. I want to thank all of you for reviewing too, it means so much to me to read your wonderful words.

Lastly, Lucy, you are AWESOME & I love you. Robin & Ksenija too, thanks for being fab friends.

Wow I didn't mean my note to be so long – there is a flashback in this chapter. I hope you enjoy, and I look forward to reading your reviews ~ ID

* * *

><p><strong>OoO<strong>

A thin opaque mist of darkness descends like a thick veil, engulfing my whole body in overwhelming sadness. I slowly walk up the stairs, step by step, finally sitting on the third stair from the top. I turn my phone over and over in my hand; time is standing still, only a few seconds have really passed (in reality), since I left the lounge. Yet it feels like hours, I swipe my phone: 

"Regina Mills," I answer, with more authority than I feel. I curl my toes into the thick plush carpet, my whole body rigid and tense. 

"Doctor Mills?" A male voice filters through my phone. 

"Yes," I say confused, I was expecting a call from Elena, "Who is this please?" 

"This is Detective John Muirhead." 

"What can I do for you?" I say sighing in relief. At least it's a detective. As part of my job, I quite regularly came in to contact with Police officers, however, I had not met this one before. 

"I have a matter of great urgency I need to discuss with you, is it convenient for me and my colleague to drop by in say... 20 minutes?" 

"What is this about?" Confusion washes over me, I really had no idea what this could be about. 

"It isn't something I can discuss with you over the phone ma'am, better to talk in person." 

"Okay, well I suppose that's alright. We're at home this evening anyway." I tried to do a mental recall of all the patients I had treated in the past week or so that would warrant a call like this. 

"Ma'am, may I ask who else is in the house with you?" 

"No you may not." I say perplexed and annoyed by the questions. 

"We are on our way now, I suggest that you lock all of your doors, I will phone you again when we're outside. Don't open the door to anyone in the meantime okay?" 

I stare blankly at my phone unable to comprehend the reason for this phone call – I really can't think of anything that could cause such a fuss. 

**OoO**

Pushing the living room door open I walk in, both Henry and Robin turn around to look at me. I am struck again by the frailty of life, of how blissful things can be one minute, and then the next the complete opposite. I try to put my 'work' face on, the face I don when the reality of the horrors of life visit me in the hospital; Henry doesn't need to see how much that phone call had shaken me.

"Everything okay, you look pale as snow," Robin says.

"I'm fine, could I speak to you for a few minutes, no need to pause the movie Henry; we won't be long." I lead him into the kitchen and close the door tightly behind me. Leaning heavily against the door I tilt my head, taking in the curious expression on Robin's face.

"What's the matter?"

"I've just had a phone call," the colour drains from his face instantly as he pulls out a chair and sits down heavily in it. "No, no it wasn't about that. It was the police, they're coming over; they refuse to say why. I've no idea what they want, they wouldn't tell me. But they told me to make sure the doors were locked and not open the door to anyone until they come."

"That is odd," He replies, pulling the chair out beside him looking no less relieved by my revelation and gesturing for me to sit. "I wonder what that's about; do you want me to stay?"

I don't sit, but move to stand at his side, I look towards him, confusion engulfing me; a fleeting thought passes through my mind's wondering if it's because of _him, the guy in the pizza place._

"I'd rather you stayed, I've honestly no idea what's going on, suffice it to say it's rather frightening." I say, my hand coming to rest gently on his shoulder.

"Don't worry," he says, pulling my hand from his shoulder and placing it tightly in his larger hand. "I'll stay as long as you want me to, I _really _mean that." _There was that double meaning again._

He pulls gently on my hand, of which he holds still securely, and then tugs a little more forcefully. Before I know what is happening I am sitting on his lap, his hand now snaking around my waist, rubbing soothing circles on my hip, his other hand sitting limply in my lap. I try to rise, to stand up but his grip tightens considerably. _Okay, so he wants me to stay.._. The arm that was around my waist rises to my shoulder. He's pulling me down, down until my head is tucked under his chin. His other arm slithers around to rest on my hip, once again taking up his unconscious action of rubbing soothing circles. Only now, the sweater I had put on earlier, when I had been ordered to change by Henry has ridden up slightly. Goosebumps start to pepper my skin as his thumb makes contact with the uncovered flesh of my waist. We sit quietly in the kitchen, not talking; only listening to the others breathing, to the tick, tick, tick of the clock; waiting...

**oOo**

He leaned forward, his voice dropping down to a bewitching whisper as he listed all of the reasons why he deemed his particular treatment plan for that specific patient in question was the best course of action available to us, at that time. He explained in great detail why mine wasn't.

Unhinged.

That was the word that spilled from his lips, his word choice for describing my preferred method. _Unhinged..._ Much like how I was feeling right now as he shifted closer to me, a whiff of his aftershave catching my attention. It smelled exotic and heady and I fought to keep my composure. I could see the battle reflected in his eyes too. Telling him I wanted him right then and there probably wasn't the best idea with that scalpel sitting within arm's reach. I was, after all known for my fiery temper, I wouldn't want to prove the stereotypes right.

My stomach involuntarily contracted as his breath swept across my lips and his soft voice filled my ears.

"There's absolutely no evidence to suggest that the clot wouldn't have dispersed on its own with or without warfarin."

"Prove it," I challenged him.

That was it. The proverbial straw that finally broke the camel's back. I didn't realise until after my mouth had crashed down onto his that this might not be the best way to start off our newly formed friendship. 'Newly' was pushing it a little. We had been friends, enemies, and everything in between, for a few months now.

But, he quickly overcame the surprise of my actions and slowly moved his head, parting his lips slightly, I realised I didn't care at all in that moment what we were, or what was at stake. The only thing that existed in my world, right that very second was the feel of his soft lips brushing against mine as our heads moved exactly in sync with the other. Our eyes continued to stay locked, the desire smouldering between us. My hand, which had been resting on the sink moved to the back of his neck, bringing him, if at all possible, closer to me. His hand went down to my waist, sliding under my scrubs and resting on my thin cotton shirt. The feeling of his warm hand rubbing back and forth where it lay on my waist, that particular feeling almost made my eyes close, as an errant sigh escaped from the minuscule gap between our lips.

My tongue darted out against his lips as I watched curiously as his eyes finally fluttered shut in defeat, before I heard the sound that would be the cause of many a long night of me lying awake in bed, frustratingly aroused. He moaned. He moaned _oh-so_ sensually into my mouth, and I felt my body catch on fire; the blood throbbing downward faster than I could blink, the echoing rumbling of his moan reverberating through my body on an endless loop. His tongue prodded further into the slight opening of my mouth. At the first contact of his tongue on mine, I felt the electric charge course through both our bodies. If spontaneous human combustion was possible, Robin Locksley was in grave danger. We both were.

Our tongues slid across each other's frantically and his hand worked its way further up my torso until he was cupping my breast. He flinched slightly, when he felt my sharp intake of breath and pressed me tighter against the wall. My arms snaked around his neck and I threaded my fingers through his hair, messing up the perfect strands of neatly styled hair. The feeling of his nails scratching over my chest made me press even deeper into him, his tongue tracing every line and crevice of my mouth.

The seconds had ticked by into minutes before we both had to finally pull away, chests heaving and pulse pounding in our ears. He nervously tried to read my expression. Would I go for the Judo move that would leave him flat on his back, clutching his delicate parts, or the scalpel, which would end with far more dire consequences? To his surprise, I did neither. In fact, I felt relieved?

As my breath evened out, I opened my eyes briefly. I could see that he continued to watch me apprehensively. For all his talk of reading people, at that moment, he had no clue what I was going to do next. The great Psychologist Robin Locksley was flummoxed.

He leaned forward, his top lip making contact with the bottom of my earlobe. The hairs on my neck responding to the way his breath was sweeping, gently across my neck.

"Don't we have a ward round to do?" he whispered huskily, his breath whispering across my neck, harder, causing me to shudder.

I pulled back and smiled confidently at him, _even though I was feeling anything but;_ before sliding out and away from his grasp, leaving the theatre. I could feel, _more like sense_ his head turn to watch, as I purposefully swayed my hips, heels clicking more audibly and rhythmically across the floor. I heard him chuckle and I could just see him, if I squinted, resting his forehead against the wall, out of the corner of my eye, exactly where my head had just been, and take a deep breath, trying to compose himself, no doubt.

He ripped of his theatre gown and hurried after me. "This is going to be the beginning of something special," He called as I turned the corner.

**OoO**

I sat bolt upright in bed, a thin sheen of sweat coated my body, my breathing heavy and laboured. I flicked on my bedside lamp; it glowed dimly as if it too was taking its time to rise from its slumber. I tried to get my breathing under control. Each and every feeling, every sensation, every touch, every kiss felt very real. I could almost feel the ghost of his touch tingling through my entire body. I ran the tip of my finger over my lips, my mouth was dry. It had felt incredibly real, _like it had really happened_. However, it had not.

Sadly.

An insistent knocking disturbed me from my thoughts, the banging on the door getting louder and louder; I felt the remnants of my dream beginning to disperse from my conscious-mind.

"Regina," I heard his voice call, smooth as honey, then the door handle to my bedroom turned, "I'm coming in. Since I have no idea if you are alive, I have to check, for my conscience at least." I hurriedly lay back down and pulled my blankets up to my chin, securely holding them there. My bedside lamp, flickering before dying completely.

"Hey, don't tell me you're still asleep?" I felt the bed dip as he sat down next to my hip. I tried to regulate my breathing. I had no idea why I had feigned sleep, I guess I just didn't want to speak to him right away... I squirmed out of his reach, or tried too - his arm however caught my pelvis and turned me around. Images of my dream flashed through my mind. I would be eternally grateful that, in that moment that he couldn't see my eyes; because for sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, were he to look into my eyes at that particular moment... Then he would see arousal reflecting back at him.

"Robin!" I moaned instead of groaned, in a decidedly huskily fashion, "It's six AM!" I coughed clearing my throat, hoping to cover my inadvertent mistake under the guise of sleep.

"Mmmhmmmm, I know exactly what time it is, the sun is just about to put its hat on, would you care to watch it with little old me?" he replied, not waiting for an answer before he began prying the covers from my vice-like-grip.

He pulled me from my bed, I stood trying to distinguish between what had happened in my dream and the man who stood in front of me right now. This man, who was a friend, _albeit a very good looking friend. _ But I had Daniel, I had no business having knee trembling dreams about another man. I was confused.

Never the less, I let him wrap a blanket around me and pull me towards the stairs to the roof.

"No sane person would be awake at this hour, you do realise this Locksley, don't you? Isn't there some kind of psychological analysis for this?" I grinned up at him mischievously, I loved finding small ways to have a dig at his chosen field within medicine.

"Haha, very funny. Here I was trying to be a good friend, to share something special with the only lady in my life. My best friend."

_Wow_, I was so thrown back by his admission of _me_ being his best friend I didn't notice him pull me by the hand, down, down until I felt the cold concrete through the thin blanket. Well, technically that's a lie, it wasn't so much the best friend thing, but more the _only lady in his life_ thing that threw me for a loop. If I didn't know any better I would associate my stomach grumbling, quite clearly in need of sustenance, _for butterflies;_ but, if forced I would vehemently deny it was anything to do with _butterflies. _No, just the body's normal reaction... _I hope._

"Red sky in morning, Shepard's warning..." Robin imparted.

"I have no idea what that even means," I say as I turn to look him in the eye.

Our eyes stay locked, as if we were competing in a prestige' staring contest. I felt my stomach assert its need for food - _butterflies - _again_. _Behind Robin, the red, sanguine sky retreated as the spherical ball of gas and flames rose steadily above the horizon. I was mesmerised watching the rays illuminate the surrounding street, and park. Trees that had been almost invisible in the inky black of night had warm, powerful rays of sunshine gliding up their trunks. As the sun rose it bathed everything within sight in a warm, glowing light.

We stayed silent. I shivered involuntary, with the cold, _or was it Robin? _I shook my head, breaking the trance, my head dipped down and I stared at my lap. I couldn't quite get my varied range of emotions under control and I began to pick at my nail varnish, as a distraction. I heard him sigh, _just like he did in my dream, h_is breath tickling through my hair pleasantly. I nearly jumped when I felt him place his hand on my jaw. His hand spanned up to my cheek bone, his pinkie latched under my jaw, urging me to raise my head. I inhaled, deeply and tipped my head upwards, our eyes connected instantly, that pull that had always been there, drawing us together. I could see the suns path reflected in his eyes for a moment before he lowered his head and kissed the corner of my mouth chastely.

He leaped to his feet determinedly, strolling towards the edge of the roof. I could make out his silhouette as he leaned over the railing.

"Well, that's my duty done M'lady, now your dashing other half has requested I join him for an early morning run, do excuse me. I'll see you in the coffee house later?" I nodded, mutely as I heard him walk away. I sat, frozen to the spot, my fingertips ghosting over the corner of my mouth. _It didn't mean anything, _I told myself_, he was English._ European's are always kissing each other in greeting or farewells... _That was all..._

_**OoO**_

Precisely nineteen minutes and 32 seconds after I had received the phone call from the police my phone springs to life again, vibrating loudly on the table where I had placed it. I look at the screen and turn to Robin, he squeezes my waist. He's still unwilling to relinquish his hold as I answer.

"This is Detective Muirhead, we spoke a few minutes ago, we are outside and we're approaching your door." And, with that he hung up.

"This is a little odd Regina," Robin said, "I don't like it. I've never known the police to behave in such a manner – is it possible someone from the hospital is playing a practical joke on you?"

"I really don't know... honestly I don't." I say. He lets go of my waist, almost pushing me to my feet as he stands behind me and begins making his way towards the kitchen door.

"You stay here," he cups my jaw tenderly, "I'll let them in okay?" I nod; his touches were new, yet old and _oh-so _achingly familiar. They left me numb, yet alive and young at the same time. I shake my head, dispersing those thoughts, as my mind clears I realise that this is _my_ house, if someone was intent in scaring the hell out of me with one damned phone call then _I _was going to be the one to meet them, and _head on._

I squeeze past Robin just as the doorbell chimes again; I heard a sigh behind me as I opened the door. I feel him hovering beside me as I look up spotting two men stood huddled on my doorstep, both wearing dark suits and serious expressions. They both showed me their badges and before I can say anything Robin steps forward blocking the door, intent on examining each one carefully. "You can never be too careful," he says as he steps back. I opened the door fully and direct them towards my office.

"Graham," I nod, recognising him as the second detective as he walks past me. He mutters an inaudible reply.

I had always loved this room - if I'm honest with myself, it was the sole reason that I had bought this house. The east facing wall was floor to ceiling glass. Along the exposed brick wall sat my custom build bookcase, made almost entirely from reclaimed oak. If I had one thing that I was obsessed with collecting, it would be books (_excluding my collection of shoes, of course)_. In front of the bookcases my desk sits. It too was crafted from the same reclaimed oak, the varnish enhancing the deep knots and grain, and my MacBook sits untouched atop of it, paperwork haphazardly strewn around. I sit down on the sofa to the side, the one facing towards the huge window and gesture to Graham and his partner to sit opposite, on the arm chairs; Robin shuffles on the spot seemingly not knowing what to do.

"Please sit down," I say, mainly looking at Robin. He inches his way around the coffee table and sits down beside me, the small sofa not leaving any space between us.

"Now, would one of you care to tell me what the hell all this fuss is about?" I say with more confidence than I feel.

The stranger, the blonde haired man with the chiselled features withdrew a notebook from his jacket pocket; opening it, he clicked a pen.

"Are you acquainted with the man in this photo?" he held out his iPad, an _all too familiar_ face filled the screen._ It was the man from the pizza parlor._

"Yes, what on earth is this about?" I ask again.

"He was arrested earlier this afternoon. Upon a search of his home, we happened upon some curious things."

"What was he arrested for?"

"If you'll let me explain the circumstances Doctor Mills, which bring us here first – those are more pertinent. As I said, while executing a search of his house we found some questionable photographs, which on their own aren't suspicious but this-" he laid out three photographs on the coffee table, "as you can see, this is what is causing us concern _and,_ is the main reason for our visit."

I looked down at the three photographs that were sitting uneven on my oak coffee table. Glancing briefly at the context of the photographs, the images blur as I hear someone gasp – then I realise, that the sound was emitted by me. I feel Robin's arm wrap around my shoulders as I begin to shake. I still can't comprehend what I'm seeing, it was like the information was stuck somewhere between entering my eyes and my brain and where it would be interpreted. A neuron or two-hundred were failing to de-code any of what I was looking at.

I line the photographs up so that they were all even, all straight and in a row, and I hear Robin talking in the distance. But I can't understand a word of what he is saying.

"As you know with his profession, I think it wise for yourself and your wife and son to stay somewhere else tonight, until we can thoroughly search your home."

"She's not my-" Robin starts to say, only to be cut off by me mid-sentence.

"Where did these photos come from?" I say, finally. Willing the words to spill from my lips took great strength and concentration.

"I recognise a few places, but surely I'd know if I had been followed. People say you feel it – There, that was outside the University yesterday, that one was when I was picking Henry up from his soccer club last week. What on earth is this?" I almost shout as I jump to my feet and begin pacing.

"Please pack a bag, we've got somewhere for you to stay tonight, we only expected Doctor Mills and her son, may I ask your name Sir?"

"Robin Locksley, I'm Regina's... _friend_," I hear him reply.

"Is there somewhere else you can stay tonight," Detective Murihead asks, "home perhaps?"

"No there isn't, I just flew in from London this morning, the plane ride took it out of me so I had planned to stay here."

"He's not going anywhere," I spin around, determinedly. "Whatever the hell _this_ is," I say loudly gesturing to the three photographs, "He is staying here, with me." I look at Robin, daring him to defy me.

"I was just going to say that," He responded, almost sheepishly as he reached for me. I side-stepped him however and stood directly in front of the detectives that both towered over me.

"You said he was arrested today, what for?" I asked them. Both refused to meet my eyes.

"He was caught breaking into your office; an intern alerted a security guard, who happened to be on the same floor. Quickly, he was subdued and the police called. He put up quite a fight and injured the Security guard quite badly; luckily, for once the guard had military training and knew how to handle the situation. It was then that we suspected foul play. Why would someone break into a Doctor's office? It's not like you'd keep a stash of medication or prescription pads in there, that's all locked up these days. My partner here had a look around and noticed your desk telephone had been taken apart – I'm not sure how much of this you want to hear Ms Mills, shall I continue?" The one named Muirhead said, stopping abruptly. I nod briefly, leaning against my desk, Robin had moved stealthy to stand by my side. I hadn't even noticed him move.

Murihead continued.

"It was highly suspicious, we've not yet confirmed the identity of the device that we recovered, but we're pretty certain it is a listening device. It's becoming more and more apparent Ms. Mills that he was stalking you. From what we can gather, he had access to your computer at work, every key stroke you entered he saw. Every webpage, medical file and personal and business e-mail as well. It would also appear he had access to your bank accounts. There is also evidence accumulating that this has been going on for the past year, perhaps longer."

"I've not even known him that long!" I say, stunned.

"It appears he sought you out for a reason we've yet to determine. Now, because of his prior clean record, he has been released on bail, temporarily, by the powers that be – I can assure you that I am not happy about that, but he must have friends in high places. We would like your approval to conduct a thorough search of your house, electronic devices and vehicles, and we may also need to speak to your son."

"That's fine – but why me?" I ask. The question had been spiralling around in my mind ever since I laid eyes on those photos. A question they no doubt couldn't answer and I felt stupid for asking the second it spilled forth from my lips.

"We don't know that yet, ma'am," he looked solemnly at the floor.

"Regina, please believe me that we wouldn't be here if it weren't serious. You know me well enough to know that." Graham said. At his mention of my first name I could feel Robin's eyes burning into my skull.

"Oh, do you two know each other?" Robin asked. I could feel his wandering hand settle on my lower back as he speaks, rubbing gently before gliding off and settling on my hip, pulling me into his side, almost possessively. _Fan-bloody-tastic, not only do I have a lunatic stalking me, burrowing into every part of my life, but now I have this great oaf standing beside me metaphorically cocking his leg and marking his territory._

"Yes, Robin, this is Graham, Graham, this is my friend, Robin." I could feel Graham's gaze sweep over us both. He was chewing his pen lid almost thoughtfully as his eyes landed on where Robins hand rested; he raised one bushy brow at me.

For the most part dating Graham had been great; it was a nice change from the norm. It was never meant to be a great love story, we both knew that. In a way we each got what we needed from the other, a way to satisfy certain needs we both had. It was the first and only time I had entered into a relationship like that, one of mere convenience and one that would never evolve beyond that basic, primal need - _sex. _ I had, perhaps of course slightly exaggerated the extent of this particular relationship, when conversing with members of my family - namely Robin. I sighed as I realised that particular oversight was just about to come back to bite me on the ass.

I knew instantly, the thoughts that were currently running through Graham's mind and they made me inwardly cringe - I say inwardly for I hope, with every fibre of my being, that I didn't let my true discomfort be known.

We, myself and Graham had been engaged in this mutually beneficial situation - _I refuse to label it as a relationship, because it wasn't, not really. _For almost two years, during that time Henry had met him a handful of time; when we would kid ourselves that our '_relationship' _wasn't just about sex we would, albeit on the very rare occasion, go out on _'dates'. _On those _'dates' _ I wouldn't permit Graham to hold my hand, kiss me or in any way touch me in public. The mere thought of doing anything like that made bile rise up in my throat. Not because Graham was an embarrassment, or unattractive, quite the contrary actually; he was and still is _very_ desirable. I can still feel that old pull towards him, towards his perfectly toned chest, athletic slim legs, _his... the way he would_...

In normal circumstances I would chose this point to excuse myself from the room, rarely would any man be able to elicit this particular feelings from me, _flustered_, stuck in-between these two men, with means of escape_. _

So, no doubt Graham was questioning _why _I was allowing Robin to be so free with his touches, come to think of it, so was I.

"So," Graham began, I could hear the amusement tinged in his voice tone, "Regina, have you noticed anything else that _you _would consider suspicious? Has anything happened recently?"

A thousand thoughts floated through my mind. Shreds of information and fragments began trying to piece themselves together in my head to create a picture. Each fragment was fuzzy, muddled and jumbled together. All of this was only visible in my mind's eye' however, the pieces refused to form a cohesive pattern. It was incredibly frustrating. Before I could let the words fall from my mouth, Robin had begun to speak.

"Well, as _you are _Regina's friend I'm sure you know all about her brakes being tampered with, something like that could of potentially killed both her and Henry at any time." I rolled my eyes at this, somewhere deep down my brain still refused to accept this threat into _existence._

"Robin, now," I patted his chest, just like I had done before in the hospital, "we don't really know what happened there do we? George was perhaps making a mountain out of a molehill, you know how dramatic and over reactive the Scottish can be." _HA, shit, _that was perhaps one of the worst things I could have said.

"Not going there Regina, stop trying to bait me..." Robin responded.

"Yes Regina, where as you American's are all calm and collected, eh?" Graham replies, a twinkle in his eye.

"Hey, I thought you were Irish, what has that got to do with you?" I splutter in mock indignation.

"When it comes to the UK you don't mess with the Celtic connection," the confused look on my face makes both Graham and Robin chuckle, _knowingly._

_Well damn, now I feel Robin's grip on my loosen slightly; it hadn't been my intention that these two actually like each other. _That thought disquiets' my mind.

"Can you give me the contact details of the garage you took your car too, Doctor Mills?" I had almost entirely forgotten about Graham's partner, Detective Muirhead, until now, his question takes me by surprise.

"Of course, his name is George Stewart, I'm sure I have his card somewhere in my desk drawer," I try to step away from Robin, although his grip loosened somewhat he was still holding on to me as if I were his life-line, I suppose in some ways _I kind of am._

_**OoO**_

I began to recall the encounter I'd had earlier that evening at the pizza shop, each man taking notes and asking questions every now and again. Robin had left the room moments ago and had just returned with Henry. I heard him explaining, as best he could, what was going on. We squished ourselves together onto the sofa, Henry in between us both, Robin holding my hand tightly. _Again._

"Now lad, you're not in trouble we'd just like you to share anything you can, did perhaps something strange happen recently?." The ginger haired detective spoke. Henry looked at me for a moment, uncertain.

"What's he doing here?" Henry said, glaring at Graham.

"Henry, that is enough - you will behave yourself and answer the detectives questions, honestly!" I scolded.

"This is pretty serious right?" he said looking at all four of us, we each nodded. "A month or so back mom had popped out with Graham to get a take-away, I know I shouldn't have done it, but I opened his briefcase and took Graham's laptop out – I'm not going to get into trouble for this am I?" he asked the detectives, his eyes darting back and forth.

"No Henry, please continue." Graham encouraged my son gently, I smiled.

"I was worried about mom. I'd gotten a strange vibe that something was going on; something didn't sit right with me, it felt like we were being watched. I thought it was something to do with Graham. Now I know it wasn't, I'm sorry," I could see Henry's eyes flit down, ashamed and embarrassed. Graham reached over the coffee table, patting Henry's twitching hand.

"its okay lad, you were just looking out for your mom. Please continue," he said. Perhaps I had misjudged this handsome Irish man._ Perhaps he was relationship material after all. _I nodded reassuringly at Henry for him to continue.

"So I opened his laptop, it wasn't hard to get into or anything, his password was his badge number and that was also in his briefcase. From the brief look I got, it made me feel guilty for even suspecting him. Graham wasn't up to anything suspicious, it really was nice having a guy around too." Henry finished.

I screwed my eyes shut, sighing at Henry's last comment, I had deluded myself into thinking that Henry didn't need a male role model in his life. After all that was what Robin was for, _or supposed to be, even though a few thousand miles of ocean had separated us for a few years._

Henry continued, "While I was going through the documents on Graham's laptop a security alert popped up on the task bar, not like any anti-virus I had ever seen before. It warned me that there was someone intruding. I thought it meant me, but as I was going to shut the lid and put the computer away I began to see the cursor moving by itself, folders and files opening up on the screen. That was when I realised that Graham's laptop had been hacked. I grabbed my iPad and I managed to back-trace the I.P and DNS of the computer at the root of the attack, whoever it was, was obviously to pre-occupied with searching through the files on Graham's laptop to notice me, so I began to nose about in their files."

"Henry, why didn't you tell either me or Graham any of this?" I nudged him gently with my free arm, my hand slowly sliding down to squeeze his. I didn't understand much of what he was saying, but I noticed both detectives exchange concerned glances with each other.

"Graham caught me going through his laptop." Henry blurted out hurriedly.

_Ah, well there is was, where Graham being an arsehole came from,_ I thought to myself. Graham looked at me sheepishly. Obviously there had been a verbal reprimand, given by Graham.

"The files, they were password protected, but it didn't take that long for me to get in to them. Weird thing was whoever this guy was had them protected so much, that if I were to enter the wrong password it would wipe the lot. Anyway, when I had a look through the files on the computer there was a folder marked "Regina" – she's my mom, so, of course my curiosity piqued a little more. I didn't know what to do, the cursor was hovering over the folder and that's when I noticed the file size. It was over 100GB, that shocked me, so I looked inside." Henry shifted, trying to gain more of the precious little space on the sofa.

"I know you're a curious lad Henry, you must have looked in that folder, what was in it?" Graham encouraged.

"There were hundreds and hundreds of photographs and videos of my mom, with loads of different people and in different places, over what looked like years. It was obvious she didn't know the photos were being taken. There were loads of other folders but I didn't get the chance to look at them, that was when you guys came home and Graham caught me using his laptop – I did set the files to be shared on the network, so I could download them, funny thing is this guy had a very similar IP address to ours, just one digit out. There was some really weird shit," he swore, looking at me, as if waiting to be reprimanded. I decided to overlook that utterance given the gravity of the situation, merely raising my eyebrow at him.

"Half of it I didn't bother to look at, but there was some pretty high priced programming on there. It was the kind of stuff you hear about but you'd never have thought it would've _really _existed. I was a little shocked, a few days later I opened a file called 'Mandy' there was loads of photographs and videos of a pretty blonde girl, the most recent of them she looked ill. Then there was a letter, I can go get my laptop and show you if you want?"

"Later Henry, was there anything else you did or saw?" Detective Muirhead asked.

"Once I had read that letter I understood what his game was, I opened up a word document on his laptop and basically told him to stay the hell away from my mom, to get over his sick obsession, otherwise I was going to the police. He confronted me about it one night, by doing the same thing to me as I had to him; I stood my ground, told him I'd taken multiple mirror images of his hard drives and hidden them somewhere – which I hadn't. I know it was wrong for me to do that, but I was worried about my mom." Henry's voice tone changed, it sounded as if he were on the edge of tears, back to that young innocent deep boy.

I sat in a stunned silence. This explained Graham's quick retreat from my life, for Henry to go from worshipping the ground he walked on to deeming him an arsehole, Graham must have given him an almighty scolding.

Then there was what my poor little Prince had discovered. Each new piece of the puzzle swirled together in my mind with all the other disjointed fragments. I turned to gather Henry in my arms, but stopped short when my gaze landed on his head buried against Robin's chest. A lump began to rise in my throat as I watched my wonderful friend comfort my distraught son.

"I really had no idea this was happening, Henry did whoever it was hurt you?" My innocent little boy shrugged beside me I turned to face him straight on. "DID he hurt you?" I asked again, he looked down and away, his head back against Robins' chest, not answering me.

"No, I've never met him, I don't think; don't even know if it is a _him_. I made a promise to myself that I couldn't and wouldn't tell you, you've had enough to deal with – so I dealt with it myself. He only ever spoke to me on the notepad of my laptop. I videoed it." I let my body come into contact with Henry's back and tried to hug him as much as I could. Robin's arm slid up and down my back, grounding me and giving me much needed strength in this moment. I felt both proud and angry emotions mix and swirl together with a small pinch of fear.

"Regina, we are going to step into the kitchen to make some calls okay?" I felt Grahams hand on my arm as he spoke, "when you're all ready, can you pack a small bag?"

I was only vaguely aware of both men leaving the room. Robin's arms tightened around me, I didn't realise why until I lifted my head and saw his tear stained shirt. I opened my mouth to apologise but he shook his head, urging me back into his arms.


End file.
